Lifted
Page 7
I listened as everybody chattered about the Dallas Cowboys, fishing holes, the new art teacher at Calvary, and the upcoming lacrosse game. Then Gabe said, “Poppy, can I ask you something?” Heads turned in our direction and all other conversations paused. The fire crackled and a cow mooed in the distance.
“Er, sure.” Oh my God. Was Mary Jane right after all? Did Gabe have a crush on me? Was he going to ask for my phone number? Or ask me out, right in front of all these people? He licked his lips, and all of a sudden, my eagerness turned into uneasiness. My stomach lurched. I couldn’t decide; did I want him to or not?
Gabe’s lips parted and out came the question: “What time is it?”
Had I heard right?
I sensed disappointment around us. Especially from Mary Jane. Gradually, the chitchat picked up again.
“Oh.” I chuckled to try and hide my shock that all he wanted from me was the stupid time. But at least my stomach felt better. I glanced at the clock on my cell phone. “Um, five after eight,” I said, noticing that I had a new text message . . . from David?
“Really? Aw, shoot.” Gabe stood and shook out his legs. “I have to pick up my sister from drill team practice.”
“Okay, see you later,” I said in chorus with the others, and some dude called out, “Good luck at the game tomorrow!”
“Georgia is such a cutie,” Bridgette said as she followed him away from the bonfire. “I loved having her in the church musical last Easter.”
David was next to me again, only there was a gap where Gabe had sat. I gave the preacher’s son a weird look before opening the text message. Wanna see how country folk get their kicks? it read.
Let me guess, I texted back, taking a roll in the hay? I hit SEND and arched my brows as I watched him read it.
David’s response made me grin: Madam, I am much more than a piece of meat.
Then he looked up at Whitney and Ellen and said, “Ladies, I have something to show Poppy. Sit tight; I’ll have her back to y’all in fifteen minutes tops.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
He took my arm and helped me up. Though I had no clue what I was doing, I walked with him around the house and into the garage. A pair of tabby kittens scampered out of our way. “What made you so sure I’d come with you?” I asked.
He smiled. “Wasn’t sure at all, but what’s life if you don’t take a risk every now and then? Here, you can take Noah’s.” He presented me with a gray bicycle that had seen better days, and then he hopped on a red one that looked even shabbier.
“Are these safe?”
“I guess we’re about to find out.”
I jumped onto the bike and started pedaling, pleasantly surprised by how fast it went. The wind blasted my face, my shoulders, the sides of my arms and legs . . . and it felt wonderful. We rode up and down a little hill and past a field with brown cows and white boxed beehives. Finally we rolled up to a railroad crossing. The train whistle tooted, warning us it was nearby. David hit his brakes and laid the bike in the ditch. I followed suit. “What are we doing, David?” I asked.
“Hold your horses, little lady.” He dug a couple of coins out of his front pocket and tossed them high into the air, then caught them and spun on his heel in the dirt. “Now come on. We don’t want to miss this.”
I hurried to catch up with him as he eased his way through the tall, feathery grass that grew alongside the tracks. “Which one do you want?” he asked, holding his palm open to reveal two shiny pennies. I took one and he laid the other one on the top of the tracks. “Your turn.”
“But won’t it derail the train?” I asked.
“Naw, that’s just an old wives’ tale. A cow or a car might do that but not a teensy little coin.”
I placed the penny next to David’s and we walked a few feet away from the track to wait.
“So you do this a lot?”
“Only with pretty new girls.” He winked, and for some stupid reason, heat rushed into my cheeks.
“You sure don’t act like the son of a preacher.”
“And how’s the son of a preacher supposed to act?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Well, me neither. So I just act like myself.” He sat on the side of the tracks and patted the space beside him. “Here, take a load off,” he said, and I did. “A little birdie told me something that’s made a world of difference in my life. It said—and I quote: ‘Oh, lookie here. A human!’” He nodded once.
I waited, plucking a fistful of grass, but apparently that was the extent of his little tale. “Great story. Maybe they’ll make a movie out of it.”
“Don’t you get it? I’m human. As in ‘only human.’ Sure, I can try to live up to everyone’s expectations for the son of a Southern Baptist preacher. But I’d never be good enough in their eyes.” He twisted his hand palm-up and gestured around us. And though his facial expression and posture indicated a casual air, I got the impression that his words were heartfelt. “So rather than spend my entire life striving to be perfect and beating myself up over every little slipup, I reckoned it made more sense for me to come up with my own expectations for myself. You know, figure out what matters to me and how I want to live my own life.” Then he turned to face me full-on. “So do you act like the daughter of a . . . let’s see, your mom’s a prof, right? Hmm. Smart? Check. A subtle yet undeniable sexiness?” Oh, God. Please don’t let him notice I’m blushing—again! “Check. Okay, so maybe you are the model daughter of a college professor. But what’s your dad do?”
I shrugged, surprised David hadn’t already heard my father wasn’t in the Browne family portrait. “I don’t really know. We don’t keep in touch.”
David inhaled slowly and exhaled with a huff. “Well, at least I won’t have to worry about your ol’ man pointing a shotgun at my groin when I come to pick you up for our first date.”
First date? I wasn’t sure if I should be turned off by his overconfidence or flattered. “I bet my father would be a total softy compared to my mom.”
David turned to look up the tracks. “All right, here it comes!” He stood and yanked me beside him. Sure enough, a train chugged its way around a bend, getting louder and louder. A little spark flew when it reached the spot where we’d placed the pennies, but the train stayed on the tracks like David had said, pulling a vast assortment of cars past us. Some were solid orange; others boasted awesome graffiti.
A strong breeze stood our hair on end, and the loud thump thump thump of wheels on track revved up my heartbeat. “Kind of feels like being in the front row of a rock concert,” I yelled, and David nodded. Before long, the caboose whizzed past and the train continued its journey across America.
David stepped onto the tracks and gathered the coins, flipping them into the air. “Gotta cool ’em off a bit,” he said, then he tossed one to me. “What do you think?”
I held the flatter, smoother, warmer version of the penny in my hand. “Wow.”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and smacked his lips “Well, now that I’ve had my fun with you, I’d better take you back to my place.”
“Charming,” I said, picking up his brother’s bike. “No wonder people say you think you’re God’s gift to women.”
“They say that?”
I nodded.
“Well, like I said, I can never live up to their expectations.”
David jumped on his bike and started riding in circles. “Hurry up, kiddo. Last one to my house has to eat three hot dogs.”
Ew, hot dogs? He was kidding, right?
I peddled like crazy, riding as fast as David’s brother’s bike would allow. My heartbeat accelerated along with my speed, and I struggled to keep my eyes open as the wind whipped through my hair and across my face and shoulders. Pure exhilaration spread from the top of my head to my toes. I flew.
For the most part, I stayed hot on David’s trail. When the road evened out, we were handlebar to handlebar, and the possibility of winning swelled within every cell of my body.
When I got back to the Hillcrest’s house, breathless and happy, David and Andrew were hanging out in the front yard. David nodded and pointed at me as I coasted into the garage. They appeared to be in the midst of dude talk, so I had every intention to go out back and find Mary Jane and the girls. But my ears perked up when I heard the topic of Andrew’s monologue: Mary Jane. Taking longer than necessary, I stood the bike up in its place beside David’s.
“Mary Jane would have a major come apart if she knew I was talking about this with anybody. It’s one of her rules: ‘Don’t tell a soul or you’ll never get any from me, ever again.’” He stated the last bit in a fake girly voice. “She has a ton of rules, man, but what can I say? It’s worth it.”
David asked, “What do you mean, having a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what I mean. My ex got off on not getting me off, you know? Talk about a tease. And then I got together with Mary Jane, and it rocked my world. I’m serious, dude. Suddenly, all the expensive gifts and cheesy chick flicks and . . . oh, man, all the drama . . . was worth it.”
Was he talking about liking—maybe even loving—Mary Jane? Or was he just talking about having sex with her, or wanting to . . . ? My gut told me I needed to find out, not just to appease my curiosity, but to know for Mary Jane’s sake. So I decided to see how long I could get away with eavesdropping.
“I’m not saying she’s easy, ’cause I know better than to bite the hand that feeds you. Or the hand that does other fun stuff to you.” Andrew chuckled and I cringed. All of a sudden, I wasn’t listening in on a locker room type of conversation between two dudes I didn’t know very well. I was in the computer lab back at Flatirons, the day I realized what an idiot I was for wasting so much time on Spence, a guy I only thought I knew. I clenched my fists, shoving those memories back into the dark caverns of my mind.
“But really, dude,” Andrew said, “what should I do? The girls won’t let it go, you know?”
“Well, from my understanding, you can still join,” said David. “You’re just supposed to make a fresh start. And since Mary Jane’s already in it . . . Well, maybe you should just talk to her. Work it out between the two of you.”
At that point, I was utterly lost. And annoyed. And ready to stop hiding out with the bikes, tools, and a spry daddy longlegs spider. Hoping they didn’t realize I’d been eavesdropping, I snuck out of the garage.
Andrew tweaked the bill of his baseball cap. “You think?”
“I think.”
“Okay, maybe I’ll give it a try.”
“Go get ’er, tiger.” David slugged Andrew’s arm and then spotted me. “Oh, hey Poppy. Hungry for a hot dog?”
“You know it,” I said, and he jogged to catch up with me.
“Did you hear any of that?” he whispered as we headed out back.
“Uh, any of what?”
“So you heard.” He grinned knowingly, then sidled up closer to me. “I’m not really sure why, but people are always . . . opening up to me like that.”
“That’s good. Because I’ve got something very important, very personal to tell you right now.” I relaxed my features, hoping to appear staid.
He stopped walking and faced me, and if I wasn’t mistaken, eagerness lit his eyes. Oh, man, he had sexy eyes.
I cleared my throat. “I hate hot dogs.”
He blinked. “You. Hate. Hot dogs.”
“Like, really really detest them.”
“I see.” He took a deep breath and pressed his lips together. “Well, I’d hate to be responsible for making you do something you didn’t want to do.”
“So you’re letting me off scot-free?”
“No, no, kiddo. I’ve been training for weeks to beat you at that bike race.” I had to laugh at that. “So you owe me, a’ight?”
“Okay, okay. Whatever. I owe you,” I agreed, relieved I didn’t have to consume three disgusting hot dogs and extremely interested to find out what he had in store for me.
The Portman’s colonial home reminded me of the one in Gone with the Wind, from the gigantic oak tree and gorgeous flower beds in the yard to the sparkling chandelier I spied through a window above the red double doors. I punched the doorbell button, the sonorous chimes announcing my arrival. As soon as I heard footsteps and a dog yapping, I waved good-bye to my mom in her Volvo.
“Hi, Poppy,” the older version of Mary Jane said as she whisked open the door. She wore an amethyst-colored jogging suit and her platinum blond hair in an off-centered ponytail. If not for her flashy diamond jewelry and bright lipstick, she would’ve succeeded in pulling off the effortless sporty look.
“That’s enough, Mollie.” A schnauzer sporting yellow bows on its ears yipped twice more and then stood solemnly at her owner’s feet. “We’ve heard such nice things about you. Mary Jane slept in this morning, so I’m afraid she’s still getting ready.” She gestured for me to follow her. The dog zipped past us and up the stairs, watching us with a tilted head.
Mary Jane’s Brighton purse dangled from the banister and a candle infused the air with the aroma of strawberries. Photo collages covered the wall, exhibiting a lifetime of stories starring Mary Jane and her older sister, Jo Anna. Even as toddlers, they wore designer clothes and smiled with the confidence of girls who knew they were extraordinarily beautiful.
At the top of the landing, a photo caught my eye and I paused to get a better look. Mary Jane appeared to be twelve or thirteen, decked out in a fairy costume. She posed beside a beaming Bridgette Josephs, also a fairy. I did a double take, but yes, it was definitely a young Bridgette. The twosome clenched pillow cases bursting with candy. The looks on their glitter-painted faces didn’t lie: Those two used to be best friends.
Mrs. Portman gave a rapid knock knock and then opened the door to her daughter’s bedroom, a flowery, lacy, Laura Ashley barf-fest. Mary Jane swiveled on a cushy vanity stool to face us. Even makeup-free and with her long flaxen hair piled haphazardly atop of her head, she was stunning. “Oh, hey Poppy!” She waved her powder brush at me. “I was hoping it was you.”
“When did you get that nightie?” Mrs. Portman asked in a prickly tone.
Mary Jane shrugged. “I’ve had it awhile. You like?” She stood and whirled around, the silky, polka-dotted nightgown swirling around her thighs. “It has a matching robe.” She grabbed the robe off her bedpost and swung it around her shoulders.
Mrs. Portman pursed her lips while her daughter struck silly-sexy poses. “It’s a little . . . short, that’s all. Better not let your father see you parading around in it, young lady.” Then she drew the blinds and said, “What are y’all up to today?”
Mollie the dog pranced into Mary Jane’s room and dragged herself onto a satin pillow-bed by the bedside table. I stroked her soft, silver coat.
“Shopping,” Mary Jane replied, getting back to her makeup.
“Ah, yes. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Mrs. Portman said as proudly as Mom might someday say, “Three Ivy League schools have offered my daughter full-ride scholarships.” “Oh, have y’all been to Colleen’s Closet yet? It’s that new store out yonder in Clover Strip Mall. I haven’t looked into it yet, but the ladies at the country club found some cute clothes there. And speakin’ of the country club, your father and I have a golf tournament there this afternoon. It’s to raise money for those poor people down South who were hit by the hurricane,” Mrs. Portman added, I figured, for my benefit. “Mary Jane, why don’t you meet us at the club at seven for dinner.”
“Okay.” She waited for her mom to leave and then said, “Sorry that barbecue last night was so lame.”
“I actually had a pretty good tim
e,” I said, remembering the exhilaration I felt as the train chugged past David Hillcrest and me (since then, I’d put the penny in my jewelry box for safekeeping) and the feel of wind on my face as he kicked my ass in our little bike race.
“Isn’t Gabe adorable? Y’all get along well . . .” She paused to brush mascara on her lashes, her lips forming a perfect ring shape. “Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, we talked some.” Kinda weird, but not a single thought of Gabe had wriggled its way into my mind since he’d left to pick up his sister last night. “You seemed to be having a great time with Andrew.” I snatched the Seventeen magazine off the desk and flopped onto her white, pink, and red floral-printed bedspread.
Maybe I should tell her what I’d overheard her boyfriend saying to David. But then again, what exactly had he said? That Mary Jane had a lot of rules? So what? That his ex was a tease? Not applicable. That he didn’t like chick flicks? So sue him. And he’d said something about Mary Jane being easy—er, or was it that she wasn’t easy?
Shit. I’d hate to misinterpret him and be responsible for some kind of relationship turbulence. Besides, David advised him to talk to Mary Jane about . . . well, about whatever was bothering Andrew. So I decided to keep quiet for then, and maybe just keep an eye out for Mary Jane. And to be there for her if she needed to talk. Lord knows, if I’d had someone to talk to, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten in so deep with the likes of Spence Farr.
Mary Jane puffed out her cheeks, and I detected a little extra color in them. “Yeah, well, we had a little fun, but then he started talking about football and Whitney mentioned the GOV Club and he just disappeared . . .” She shook her golden curls as if confused.
The doorbell rang, and Mollie bolted for the front door, barking ferociously. “Mom? Can you get it? I’m still not dressed,” Mary Jane called. “I swear, there’s never anything exciting going on in this town. I can’t wait till I graduate. Jo Anna went to TCU, but I’m going somewhere far, far away. Maybe California or New York.” Switching off her movie-star-dressing-room lights, she said, “Now to find something to wear.”